


The Monster You Know

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Monster You Know [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Past Reveal, admitting feelings, and there was only ONE BED ROLL, every chapter isn't going to end with sleep i promise, geralt is a secret softie, i can't fucking sleep, i have altered the timeline, jaskier gets to ride roach, pray i do not alter it further, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier's sleep habits have been keeping Geralt awake. When they finally become too much, Geralt confronts the bard. In his efforts to find sleep himself, he learns something new about Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Monster You Know [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642081
Comments: 36
Kudos: 436
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Bed Your Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long storyline with lots of chapter updates, even if they aren't frequent. It's going to get weird, folks, so please stay tuned!

The bard was mumbling in his sleep again, keeping the Witcher awake. It was hardly unusual, though, and Jaskier never realized that he was doing it. Geralt had never mentioned it to him, and so he assumed that he was a perfect bedmate who never snored or stole the blanket or anything. Geralt barely slept as it was, so how was the bard meant to know if he was being kept awake? 

**“Jaskier,”** he finally gruffed, when the noises turned to whimpering, with the occasional soft cry of _no_. When the single uttering of his name didn’t do it, Geralt shook his shoulder. The Witcher would never admit to formal concern for his travel companion, but his actions often did not need over explanation. **”Wake up. Can’t even be quiet in your sleep,”** he shook his head, laying back when Jaskier startled awake.

**”Wh-what? Geralt!”** Jaskier rubbed his eyes and glared at his assaulter. **”I was _sleeping_. How loud could I possibly be when I’m asleep, for gods’ sakes?”** Jaskier groaned and turned onto his side, away from Geralt, because gods knew how long it would take for him to fall back asleep whilst worrying about another rude awakening. It made him recall a far less pleasant time, and it would take time to calm his mind again. 

**”You were having nightmares,”** Geralt grunted from behind him. It was an innocent enough statement, and yet Jaskier found himself frozen, staring at the dark wall before him. If Geralt could tell it had been a nightmare, then what kind of noises had been coming from the bard? Jaskier pretended not to have heard the Witcher, in hopes that he would drop the subject. 

Of course, the one time he counted on Geralt’s sullen silence was the one time Geralt wanted to speak about _things_. **”Jaskier. Your nightmares have gotten worse.”**

That made him sigh, and finally turn over. To his surprise, Geralt was actually looking at him. There were very few times when, in bed, the Witcher met his gaze when they spoke. Usually his eyes were shut, or he was turned away, annoyed by Jaskier’s insisting on getting _every last detail_ of the fight that day, so he could commit it to writ and song. Jaskier sighed, laying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. He knew Geralt wouldn’t say much else, but those eyes of his, which Jaskier could have sworn glowed in the dark of night, were burning into him with such intensity that he would surely get burned from the gaze.

**”How long have you made note of my sleep habits?”** It was far easier to snark the Witcher than to be fully honest with him. Ironic, wasn’t it? Then again, Geralt did always hound him about how his songs were naught but lies and elaboration. Jaskier glowered at him, because clearly he would not be allowed to rest again until Geralt was satisfied.

**”For as long as they’ve been keeping me awake,”** Geralt was…laughing? What an odd response. And it actually made Jaskier _mad_. **”In other words, from the day you attached yourself to my side. Tell me.”**

Jaskier frowned at his friend, unsure why the man wanted to know his dreams. Now, of all times? **”Tell you my dreams?”** he asked, incredulously. Jaskier scoffed, as though that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. Mostly because it was, firstly, and because those were not the sorts of things he cared to share with…anyone.

**”Your nightmares.”**

**”No.”**

Geralt was as surprised as Jaskier by that sudden, firm denial. Gods damn him, that made the White Wolf only more intrigued.

**”No?”** As though he’d never been told no before in his life. Then again, he likely had not. Not often in the past fifty years at least, anyway. 

**”It’s…from a past I am sooner inclined to forget than to speak of. You say the devil’s name, and there-”**

**”What sort of devil haunts you, Jaskier?”** Geralt interrupted, rudely, but also somehow delicately. Jaskier pouted slightly, and glanced at the Witcher.

**”Why do you care to know, anyway? You’re not my friend, as you’re ever so keen to remind me, even though you still allow my companionship and songwriting, desp-”**

It was a hand that interrupted him this time, clapped firmly over his mouth. Jaskier whined softly in protest, but Geralt only raised his brows at the bard. **”A Witcher is never distracted in hunting his monster,”** he said. **”Besides, if I can ease these nightmares, I stand a chance of a decent night’s sleep.”** The cheek on him! But it at least shocked Jaskier out of his reluctance, his face now wearing an expression of annoyance.

**”They’re just dreams, Geralt.”**

**”You’re trying to distract me. You know that won’t work.”**

Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms. **”You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?”** Geralt grunted in agreement with the statement. Fine, then, if the Witcher was going to be annoying, Jaskier might as well tell him…well, _something_ at least. 

**”They’re…my nightmares. They’re about my brother.”** Jaskier was frowning, and very uncomfortable. Geralt did not pry, but nor did he lay back as though satisfied by the answer. 

**”When you met me, I was poor, scrounging for scraps and singing filth just so people would throw their food at me. And I was still happier than…than where I’d come from.”** Jaskier took a few deep breaths, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. To fight them, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Geralt grunted as though he was about to say something, but seemed to decide against it.

**”I left when I was fourteen…almost a man, in my father’s eyes. My brother…well, he was my half-brother. He was _cruel_ Geralt. So cruel, I could not…there was no fighting him. If I hid, he would sic hunting dogs to find me and drag me out. He made me…”** Jaskier’s voice broke, and damn it if he didn’t feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t do this. He had left that awful place so that he never had to think of it again.

Jaskier tried to speak further, but found his voice garbled and croaking as a frog’s. He shook his head, eyes still tightly shut. If he opened them, Geralt would see how badly he wished to cry. The bard startled when he felt a large, warm arm sliding beneath his shoulders. 

**”Geralt?”**

**”Sleep.”**

He didn’t question the embrace further, but found that his tears were flowing freely now. Jaskier turned towards Geralt, starved for touch and feeling truly vulnerable for the first time in his memory. He had many consorts, lovers, and suitors. But a friend? Jaskier knew Geralt did not like to use that term, in some attempt to protect the bard. A silly thing, really, because abandoning him would have proven that far more effective.

**”I hear his laugh in my dreams. I…I don’t have them as often these days.”** Ever since traveling with Geralt, they had become scarce. Jaskier would have preferred they disappeared entirely, but that was impossible. His voice dropped to a whisper, and thank the gods for Geralt’s keen senses, else he never would have heard the muffled voice getting lost against his chest.

**”It wasn’t just what he did to _me_. He would…Geralt he was a murderer, a…a rapist! He’d make me watch, and I…”** How anyone could laugh through the things he did, Jaskier would never know. And he would never care to ask, either. Jaskier planned on never going back. Following around a Witcher and facing certain peril at his side was far preferable.

Geralt did his typical grunting, but somehow sounded softer and more understanding. There was such an odd dichotomy between them, Jaskier always thought. For every word Geralt did not say, Jaskier had twenty to give. 

**”Would you want a potion to rid yourself of them?”**

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, who seemed comfortable enough in their position now. Was he serious in this offer? It was hard to tell, with him. 

**”I…the dreams, yes. But not the memories. I shouldn’t wish to forget why I left.”** No, for what if he had the urge to visit home because he had forgotten the horrors that awaited him? 

Geralt seemed to understand, thankfully. Jaskier’s breathing had evened again, and he did find himself drifting to sleep in Geralt’s arms. It was a first, but they had known each other long enough by now. It was long overdue, really.

**”Thank you.”**

**”Sleep, bard.”**

And so he did.


	2. Sing Me a Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier discuss their next adventure, and Jaskier shares a bit of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are in the slow march towards the beginning of the story's arc. If you think you know what's going on, please no potentially spoilery comments!

Jaskier was quite surprised when he awoke, still wrapped in the Witcher’s strong embrace. He’d somehow shifted in the night, and Geralt had remained facing him, now pressed firmly against his back. Was Geralt still asleep? Would he disturb Geralt should he attempt to move and look? He found himself suddenly stiff, as he attempted to hardly even breathe, just so Geralt could sleep a little longer. The White Wolf got upset when whatever precious sleep he could glean was disturbed, and Jaskier was _not_ about to be the one to wake him. Well, not that it had stopped him in the past, but this particular situation was a rather delicate one. Jaskier closed his eyes, and hoped that perhaps he could fall back to sleep for a bit. 

**”I know you’re awake,”** Geralt grumbled behind him. Jaskier sighed in relief, shifting to turn onto his back and looking up at the Witcher. He was unused to so much direct eye contact from Geralt, when it didn’t involve him getting into some kind of trouble. 

**”Then you could have told me sooner!”** Jaskier swatted Geralt’s shoulder with a pout, but that only elicited a chuckle from him. 

**”And missed out on such a warm morning welcome?”** Geralt stretched and pulled away from Jaskier, leaving the bard feeling oddly empty. He’d never known a Witcher would be so _warm_ to sleep against. It was the first time he’d been embraced like this, when sleeping, and he had never felt more secure and safe in his entire life. 

**”Did you dream further?”**

Jaskier was surprised by the question, and it visibly showed on his face. He sighed, having hoped that in the daylight, Geralt would have no more questions for him.

**”No. No more of _those_ dreams.”** He had never told Geralt much about his past, and for a damn good reason. **”Honestly I…don’t remember much of them. The nightmares. I didn’t know I was having them so often.”**

Geralt glanced at the window. Jaskier knew they would have to be off soon, on another adventure. Whatever it was the coin brought them this time, of course. Maybe the far west, as far as the continent went. Jaskier had seen more of it than he’d ever hoped to, just by traveling with the Witcher. 

**”Does your brother still live?”**

Now _that_ caught him by surprise. Jaskier was speechless for a moment, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

**”Geralt. He was alive when I left. By any luck the bastard is long since dead and gone. I beg you, do not go searching for him. I won’t tell you where I’m from, nor his name.”** He knew the look on Geralt’s face. It was his _interfering_ face. The one he claimed not to have. 

**”We’re bound to go there eventually.”**

Jaskier shook his head, and that earned him a curious look from Geralt. **”I’m…not from the continent.”**

**”Not from the continent.”**

**”No.”**

**”Then where-”**

**”Geralt I’m _not_ telling you. For a reason. I…you asked me once about the scars on my leg.”** The Witcher was seemingly confused, though understanding was slowly creeping into his features. Jaskier helped him out further, and found it interesting, yet odd, that he had to say it explicitly. Was that perhaps part of his training? That he did not assume until he had every fact. It made sense, he supposed.

**”The dogs. He would beat them until they were aggressive and…and well just _mean_. He’d send the worst for me, Geralt. They’d drag me out by my legs and then _he’d_ get his hands on-”** Jaskier was startled when he looked up to see Geralt’s _scary face_. Was that…for him? Because of him? Had he done something to the Witcher now, or was this purely because of the story?

**”Does he live?”** The Witcher’s voice had gone quiet, and Jaskier swore his eyes had grown darker for a moment.

**”I…don’t know.”** He really didn’t. Jaskier never sent word home, nor did he expect anyone to come looking for him. There was no need, and really, who would miss him? Well, he hoped Geralt would, now, but of his family? If one could even call _that_ a family, he supposed. **”Oh don’t you give me that look. I don’t! And I never intend to find out. If you want to keep me around as a travel companion then you’d best forget about the place we’re never going to.”**

**”And why would I want to do that?”** At least he was in a joking mood again. Jaskier laughed dryly, and got out of bed to dress himself. All this traveling around together had made him less caring for what parts of him Geralt saw. And to be quite frank, he had regularly undressed himself around the Witcher from nearly the moment they met. Perhaps decency and modesty had always been difficult concepts for him.

**”The scars on your back?”**

Gods damn it, he had forgotten about those. And Geralt had never mentioned them before! **”Those are from him too, yes.”** Jaskier did not want to speak further on it, especially since he could feel anxiety broiling in his stomach already. He quickly dressed himself, and turned to find Geralt still abed.

**”Well? Are we earning coin today or not? I have a living to be made off you, you know.”** Jaskier crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows impatiently at the White Wolf. 

With a dismissive chuckle, Geralt got himself out of bed, and began to dress for the day. **”No song writing while I’m lopping heads off,”** he warned Jaskier.

**”Oh we’re not having any fun anymore, are we?”**

  


* * *

  


The day had brought little but plodding along, though Geralt was at least letting him ride Roach this time. Jaskier was unsure if it was because he felt bad, knowing hints of the life he had come from before, or if the old Witcher was finally softening towards him. Jaskier liked to think it was the latter.

Jaskier did not care for roughing it, but he had convinced Geralt to actually set a tent rather than lie out a bedroll and be eaten alive by vile insects. The White Wolf never had such an issue, but then he had mutated blood that probably repelled such creatures in the first place. Lucky bastard.

**”There. Fire is sparked and we will not freeze to death tonight.”** Geralt had taught him how to make a proper fire, the first time he realized the bard had no clue what he was doing. But really, Jaskier had managed fairly well, for having to figure out all these things on his own. He had only come close to starving to death a handful of times, and had wooed his way into courtly beds otherwise, to pass the time. So who was the real winner, in the end?

Jaskier sat at the stump he’d dragged over, lute draped over his lap whilst he watched Geralt set the tent for them. He idly plucked at the strings in a familiar tune, though he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was playing. The bard found comfort in the odd melodies that inspired him. Sometimes he wrote a tune before the lyrics came to him, and other times it was the opposite. 

**”What’s that?”**

Jaskier looked down, and then back at the Witcher with a wry smirk. **”Geralt, we’ve been over this. It’s a lute.”**

Geralt rolled his eyes, and tied down the last of the ropes for their tent. **”The tune. It’s a new one.”**

**”I wasn’t aware you actually paid attention to that. When did you stop stuffing cotton into your ears?”** What _had_ he been playing, anyway? Jaskier picked out the same melody as before, and his face dropped, going pale. Ah. He had been playing _that_ one. Jaskier quickly set the lute down, rubbing his palms on his knees. **”It doesn’t matter. It’s an old song from my childhood, and-”**

**”Sing it for me.”** Had he left his bag of marbles back in the last village? Jaskier almost asked if he needed to run back there and retrieve them, but then realized that this was the first time the Witcher had requested it of him. 

**”It is not a pleasant song,”** he argued, reluctantly picking the lute up again. Even the melody was depressing. It must have been the events of last night and this morning, that had gotten it into his head again. There were worse ways to deal with it, he supposed. And when could he expect Geralt to _want_ to hear his singing again? A rare opportunity such as this could not be missed.

With a sigh, Jaskier began the song. Each line made his face grow more sour, and he refused to look Geralt in the eye as he played it. The story, the words, the implication of it all…oh, it was not a tale he cared to recall. Jaskier finished, feeling a flush in his cheeks. It was not from the fire, either. He glanced across it, to see Geralt looking at him contemplatively.

**”There’s a much better one, if you’d like. A hearty jig, in fact. It’s about a beautiful lady who-”**

**”No,”** Geralt interrupted. **”Are most songs so sad, where you’re from?”**

Jaskier pouted at the Witcher, and set his lute away for the night. It would seem that Geralt had finally found a way to get him to leave it alone. **”You’re prying, and I am not having it.”** He stood to raid their food pack for some kind of morsel. 

**”I’m not prying, Jaskier. Why are they depressing?”** Geralt had never been so inquisitive before, and Jaskier was wondering if he hadn’t been better off when the Witcher had just tolerated him. He plucked an apple from the pack and returned to his stump, chewing a bite as he considered Geralt’s question. Thank the gods he had not lost his typical patient streak, yet.

**”That one is a tragedy. It…no. A warning. To those who try to cross the hand that provides, I suppose. I would have much rather sung the other.”**

Geralt shook his head. **”I’ve heard your jigs. I don’t need to hear another. Hmm.”** The Witcher seemed to consider things for a moment, before he stood and fetched meat, to prepare it for them. **”I like your lyrics more,”** Geralt casually complimented, setting up a spit for the roast.

**”You like my lyrics?”** Jaskier sat up, grinning. 

**”I said I like them _better_ than that song.”** And yet Geralt was smiling, like they were sharing in a secret joke. In a way, Jaskier supposed they were. It was how Geralt showed affection, through insults. It had taken the bard a while to learn that, but it was well worth it once he had figured out what language the Witcher spoke. 

**”Ugh. That slab of meat. Can’t we have a normal meal? I’m not sure I can eat that…”** Jaskier wrinkled his nose as Geralt set up the spit over the flames. **”Eh. I think I’m fine with the apple.”**

Geralt gave him that all-too-familiar look, the one that said he had better comply or things would get rather ugly for him. Jaskier just rolled his eyes, complaining, **”How am I supposed to keep my girlish figure if I eat like you do?”**

At least that made the Witcher chuckle a bit. They both knew that Jaskier would have a few bites of the meat, and it probably was better if he started to build muscle like Geralt had. Well, not _exactly_ like Geralt. But still, he could stand to have a bit more to him. Their supper was relatively quiet, once the meat had cooked. Jaskier was grateful for the way Geralt had been ever since saving his life. That should have been his first clue to his realization that the Witcher did, in fact, care for him in his own ways. 

**”They don’t know where you disappeared to, do they?”** Jaskier didn’t even have to ask for clarification there. He knew what Geralt meant without asking. Of all the other things in his life that Geralt had ignored, now was the time his curiosity was piqued? 

**”No. And I intend to keep it that way. I hope they think I’m dead in a river somewhere, forgotten and lost. Even if they thought I wasn’t dead, they’re not going to be looking for me.”** He hadn’t been an only child, and his father was likely to produce more children, and probably had since he left. 

**”Hmm.”** Geralt grunted at him, taking the final bites of his haunch of meat. That was his answer to everything, wasn’t it? He grunted and _hmm’d_ through life, and somehow that had gotten him all this way. If Jaskier tried that, he would have been killed before he could finish the grunt! 

**”Well what is your grand plan for this next adventure of ours, then? Are we to go to the coast?”** Jaskier had to sometimes twist that knife in him, to remind Geralt of how big of an arse he had been, once upon a time. Sure, the Witcher had apologized and of course Jaskier had accepted it. It had been rather sweet, actually.

Geralt had found him, drowning his sorrows in a tavern. All the bard’s songs had been those of heartbreak and sadness, even with the things he’d tried to experience since then. Jaskier had initially tried to reject the Witcher, to push him away and tell him how awful a person he was. But Geralt, it seemed was not so easily swayed by harsh words. He had pursued Jaskier with the same feverish obsession that the bard had shown when they had first met, however long ago that was. 

It had come to a head when Geralt had followed him to his room, and blocked the door so he could not escape. Jaskier had punched and scratched him, and cried when Geralt had finally restrained him, mumbling soft words that begged forgiveness. By the time Jaskier had stopped hitting him, Geralt had just pulled him into a tight hug, as though determined not to let him go. And to be quite honest, Jaskier was _still_ tempted to write a ballad for that moment. 

**”Well?”** Oh. Geralt had been speaking to him. Jaskier looked side to side, shrugging with an apologetic expression. The Witcher would just have to say it again. Jaskier knew that he hated repeating himself, but the bard had been away in his own head. **”I said I’d received a tip, someone looking for a monster hunter at the southern docks.”**

**”Oh, well then I suppose it’s south we’re headed.”** Geralt was giving him a funny look that Jaskier couldn’t quite place. **”What? It’s south the coin’s at, so south we go.”** And that was that. Why was Geralt so concerned with this? They’d done this a hundred times, at least, what was one more? 

Jaskier stood to feed Roach the other half of his apple, despite Geralt’s grunting in slight protest. It was the key to this particular mare’s trust, though, and Jaskier would be damned if he didn’t get one of these horses to like him. **”I think this might be the one,”** he grinned at the White Wolf. Roach bumped him with her nose, making Jaskier stumble a bit. Was she saying _perhaps not_? Geralt seemed to find it funny, at least. 

**”It’s an improvement from the one that’d bite you. I miss her.”** Geralt snickered, getting a bucket to put out the fire. Again, thank the gods for the tent. Jaskier removed his jacket, stuffing it into the pack and scurrying into the tent. Geralt had set a single bedroll, but larger than the single ones he was used to. If the Witcher wanted to deal with his snores and random sleeping noises. Jaskier got in, leaving the rest of the campsite to Geralt.

Luckily he was one to fall asleep quickly, although he stirred awake when he felt Geralt slip in beside him. Those arms wrapped around him, and Jaskier finally had the moment to grunt. **”Geralt, I _wasn’t_ having a nightmare.”**

**”I know.”** Geralt was _nuzzling_ him. Jaskier was puzzled, really, because he had never known the Witcher to be especially affectionate.

**”Then…what’s this?”**

**”I liked it.”**

Jaskier didn’t want to admit that he liked it, too, nor did he want to push Geralt away. His hand found Geralt’s wrist, resting there. He fell to sleep easily once again, and this time was not woken by any nightmares.


	3. A Short Trip and a Long Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier take a boat ride.

**“Don’t they have witchers on this island?”** Jaskier had been pondering the whole time they were headed to the coast in search of the boat that needed a monster hunter. **”Because surely this is just irresponsible if they haven’t.”**

Geralt chuckled, setting up Roach’s travel pack. **”There aren’t many of us anymore, you know this.”** He picked up Jaskier’s lute case, the wrong way around!

**”Dear gods, who raised you?? Be careful with that!”** Jaskier rushed over to grab the case, but the inner pockets ended up spilling their contents onto the ground anyway. **”Fantastic,”** he groaned, bending down to pick everything up. Geralt did too, and Jaskier wasn’t thinking much of it until the witcher held up a small, metal wax stamp. 

He looked at the bottom of it with a frown, raising one eyebrow. **”Jaskier, what is this?”** Gods, the man was insufferable! What sort of divine providence had stricken Jaskier in this week, to make Geralt so curious about his past, and bring up subjects that had no right being spoken aloud anymore?

**”Give me…Geralt! Give it…give it back!”** The witcher was holding it up and out of Jaskier’s reach, pushing him away, even, when the bard tried to jump up and get it. 

**”Not until you tell me.”** Jaskier huffed in frustration, packing the rest of his things back into the lute’s bag. If only _he_ was built like a witcher, he could just grab it back.

**”It’s my family’s crest,”** he finally spat out, jumping for it again. **”I stole it when I left…just in case I needed to use it. I never have, and I never intend to. I keep it to remind me.”**

Apparently satisfied, Geralt handed it back, and let Jaskier handle the securing of it to Roach. Thankfully the mare stayed still, but that was likely because Geralt was right there stroking her nose and preparing the rest of their things. Jaskier rolled up their bedding, pondering over a few things as their little camp was broken down.

**”Geralt?”** He received a grunt as an answer. **”Why are you so curious about me _now_? After all this time we’ve spent together. Never once did you question me about my past, my family…why now?”** Jaskier waited in silence, because he too could be patient and stubborn. He had not learned it from Geralt, although the witcher certainly would take credit for it, if he could.

The White Wolf gave him a look, frowning. Clearly, that was a question he did not wish to answer. But he had been answering many lately, and Jaskier really did deserve answers after how Geralt had treated him. With a sigh, the witcher secured the last of their things, looking at the saddle for a moment.

**”After I told you to leave, and you…I didn’t think you would actually go.”** That surprised Jaskier. But then Geralt had always been an odd one, when it came to sharing his feelings. 

**”You blamed me for _all_ your troubles. I was-”** Heartbroken was the only word that fit, but Jaskier couldn’t say it out loud. Instead, he leaned against the tree, waiting for Geralt to finish. 

**”It was misery, being alone. I…regretted knowing nothing about you. I knew you were a bard, a lothario. And that was all.”** Geralt glanced at him, and then hitched himself up onto Roach. **”Are you coming?”**

Jaskier prepared himself to walk alongside the witcher, as per usual, but found a gloved hand extended. He looked at it, and then up at Geralt, who looked at him somewhat impatiently. Fine, then, if he was now allowed to ride the mare, he was going to take full advantage of it. 

**”Is this really all it took, Geralt? Finally walking away when you’d done too much?”** He was met with silence, and it was hard to tell the White Wolf’s current mood from back here. Ah well, at least staring at his back was going to be easier than walking all the way down to the docks.

**”You were never a terrible travel companion,”** was the only answer he got, after a long and heavy silence. Geralt had at least finally begun to open to him, in some way or another. It was a surprise, of course, but Jaskier was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Alright, he looked gift horses in the mouth quite often, but not when he was with Geralt.

**”Do you think the Cub will be alright with…her?”**

Geralt snorted in an amused tone, glancing over his shoulder. **”Ciri can handle herself.”**

**”Geralt, she’s _five_.”** That had been a great shock, when he’d seen the child sat atop Roach, once he’d been convinced to come along again. She was a spirited thing, and Jaskier had immediately taken to doting upon her. It did seem that she took after Geralt, and perhaps that had to do with destiny as well. Feisty little beast, she was.

**”Yennefer wanted a child to raise. Now she has one. Until we return, and I take her to Kaer Morhen.”** Jaskier cringed at that thought. A child, being raised a witcher? He supposed Geralt had turned out alright in the end, but what good could come of it? From what the bard had been told, witchers were rare in number, and no longer trained in the old ways. Geralt was an old man, one of the last of his kind. _A dying breed_ , he thought to himself, frowning.  


* * *

  
The marina was busy, filled with merchants, traders, whores, all kinds of unsavory and interesting characters. Geralt of Rivia stood out among them, and those who were clever gave him a wide berth to pass through. Jaskier didn’t know what they were looking for, but Geralt was certain their next path was here.

**”You’re sure the man wanted to meet _here_? Why not in a tavern, like everyone else. What an odd-”**

**”Island people are all strange,”** Geralt grunted, leading Roach towards the fish market. Jaskier was keeping close as possible, even holding onto one of the witcher’s belts, just in case. No one was likely to attempt a robbery while Geralt was alert and menacing, but one never did know. Jaskier was keeping an eye out as well, and didn’t notice Geralt stopping. He bumped hard into the witcher’s back, cursing for the collision with that damned sword. It was heavy, and particularly hurt hitting his eyebrow like that.

**”This way,”** Geralt turned, and Jaskier spotted a cloaked figure heading between two stalls. Oh, this was going to be absolutely wonderful, wasn’t it?

**”Take Roach,”** Geralt handed Jaskier the reins. **”I’m going to speak to the man.”**

Jaskier immediately followed, and Roach whinnied in protest. **”Geralt you _cannot_ leave me out here!”**

**”Don’t worry, bard.”** Geralt turned, putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. **”Roach will protect you.”** He smirked and turned towards the darkened space. Jaskier peered as hard as he could, but could only see that the man was wearing black leather. The market was too noisy, and he couldn’t quite make out the conversation. Something about pike? Fish, he supposed. Was there a monster fish that was out here, terrorizing a poor island? The idea made him snicker.

Jaskier stroked Roach’s mane, and she swatted him with her nose, huffing. **”Why don’t any of you ever like me?”** he complained. The mare had no answer to give, yet Jaskier could have sworn he saw humor in her wide eyes.

The heavy hand on his shoulder startled Jaskier, and Geralt laughed. **”Deep in conversation with Roach, are we? Come.”** Geralt took the reins again, apparently aware of where they were going. 

**”Where are we going?”**

**”Some shithole island made of rock. Ghoul problems. I told him it’d be better if they found a new island.”** Based on Geralt’s shrug, the man had not taken his advice well, and still wanted the witcher to play pest control for them. It really was just a glorified version of a rather mundane profession, wasn’t it?  


* * *

  
The boat was old, and the crew were sullen, and Jaskier was by far the most colorful thing on board, at least as far as exterior looks were concerned. Thank the gods they had eaten previously to heaving off, otherwise Jaskier could have never gotten a meal down. Though perhaps he was not so grateful, considering it felt like he could empty his stomach at any moment. He was praying that the seasickness wore off, or that the weather fared better for them. Jaskier was sat upon a barrel, leaning on the railing of the ship’s port, staring at the undulating horizon. 

**”Drink this,”** Geralt appeared before him, and of course a boat ride hardly affected him. Jaskier grunted, afraid that if he spoke it would not only be words exiting his mouth, and shoved the offered flask away, shaking his head. The boat lurched, and Jaskier gripped the railing in panic, afraid it was going to tip onto its side and drown them all.

**”Drink. Now.”** Jaskier’s ears felt hot, and he looked up at Geralt with venom in his gaze. If this was some magical potion to ease his suffering, then the witcher should have offered it _before_ they were out here.

**”You’re…what is…? Gods…”** Yes, there went his fear, along with his lunch, over the side of the ship. Jaskier whimpered. His head laid on the polished wood and he tried to breathe deeply. Geralt made a noise of slight concern, and slid his arm under the bard’s shoulders, lifting him.

**”It’s to help you sleep. Long journey ahead, and I’d rather you not be miserable.”** Geralt gently tipped his head back and pressed the flask to his lips. The drink was cool, but spiced, and burned as it slid down Jaskier’s throat. He coughed, but drank as much as the witcher gave. The boat lurched in the same way again, and Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s shirt. His eyes were wide and wild, knuckles quickly going white from how hard he gripped. 

**”Let’s get you to a bed.”** Geralt moved to help him stand, slowly and carefully.

**”N-no! They said…fresh air…”** Jaskier whined, and felt his eyelids growing heavy already. 

**”You’ll be sleeping like a corpse in a few minutes. And I’m not carrying you down there like that.”**

Jaskier moaned a pathetic protest, but couldn’t do much as Geralt made him begin the slow trudge towards the ship’s belly. **”This…this feels…all terribly familiar,”** Jaskier weakly joked. His feet could barely find hold on the steps, and Geralt practically lifted him down the last few of them. The sickness in his stomach had begun to bed itself, and each step was feeling heavier. Jaskier leaned hard into Geralt, eyes barely open.

**”Here.”** Geralt led him into a room, and gods be praised, it actually had a bed in it. Jaskier was soon laid out, barely coherent. 

**”Whuh…was the…dee…delishhhh…”** Jaskier’s mouth was beginning to go numb. Geralt unlaced his boots, and helped remove his jacket. **”Stay,”** the bard whispered, feeling for the witcher and finding a wrist to grab hold of. His vision was blurry, but he could still recognize the amusement in Geralt’s grunt. 

**”For a moment,”** the witcher agreed, sitting by him. Jaskier smiled, weakly giving a _yay_ , and attempted to turn onto his side. Geralt hushed him, stroking his hair. Or it felt like that was what he was doing, at any rate. Jaskier mumbled something incoherent, but kept a harsh grip on the nearest hand.

**”Know…lahv…”**

**”What?”** He sounded highly amused, and Jaskier was only frustrated that he couldn’t see the rare smile that he knew had to be on Geralt’s face.

**”Love. I. You.”** A blanket was being pulled over him, and the weight shifted on the bed. Jaskier whimpered and tried to grab for Geralt, but his arms were so heavy. Why were they heavy? **”Pees…do’ leave. Not ‘gain.”** Jaskier was in a deep slumber by the time Geralt could lay down beside him, and never felt the soft kiss to his forehead.  


* * *

  
Jaskier groaned, stirring from his sleep and instinctively reached for the witcher. Geralt wasn’t there, and Jaskier quickly sat up, banging his head on the low bunk. **”Fuck! Geralt? Geralt where _are_ you?”** He was only half-dressed, and could barely remember getting to bed at all, let alone undressing himself. He remembered…fragments. Yes, that was right, the White Wolf had given him some concoction and brought him down here to sleep. And then…

The bard felt his face flush in heat and embarrassment as he remembered what he’d tried to confess. Gods, was he absolutely fucking mad?! **”Oh gods…this is not going to go well.”** Jaskier hastily pulled on his pants and boots; there was no need for a jacket when they were still in the ocean yet, and he was sure these sailors had seen far more indecent things in their time. 

Jaskier made his way up, relieved to find a calm sea. The sun blinded him for a moment, and he squinted, trying to find the man he was looking for. Geralt was standing at the bow of the main deck, looking at the land mass still a few miles out before them. **”There, that’s the island then?”** Jaskier held a palm up to cast a shadow over his eyes, looking down as he walked over to the witcher. How was he going to address what he’d said? Fuck! He was a fool, an absolute idiot, although there was a chance he could blame the drink for everything.

**”Not quite. We’re landing on the southwestern coast of this continent. Then traveling on foot to the islands.”**

**”This continent?”** Jaskier’s eyes had finally adjusted enough for him to see where they were headed. His heart sank and his entire body went numb, as he spotted a familiar tower in the distance. **”No…no no no no no…”** He looked around wildly, and saw the mate with a spyglass in hand. **”Give me that!”** Jaskier tore it from the man and fixed it to his eye, finding the tower.

**”What did you do…Geralt…Geralt no, we…no!”** Jaskier dropped the spyglass, ignoring the angry shout from its owner, and bolted aftward. He had gotten one foot up on the rail, prepared to fling himself overboard and swim back home, but Geralt was too fast for him. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and Jaskier kicked, pleading and begging for the witcher to let him go.

**”I can’t go back! I told you to leave it! Geralt why would you…why would you do this to me?!”** Jaskier struggled and flailed, but found himself being dragged down to the belly of the ship once more, in Geralt’s grasp. 

**”Sit. Jaskier…what do you mean? No, stay right here.”**

The bard could feel tears streaming down his face. His chest was tight and shaky breaths rocked his body. **”I…I-I told you I never…never wanted to come back. And you’ve brought me here and…and you…you’ve done this on purpose!”** Jaskier jabbed an accusing finger at Geralt, wrapping his arms around himself. 

**”Jaskier…I told you where we were going. At the camp, before we slept.”**

His mind was numb, and he stared at Geralt with incredulity. Obviously he hadn’t been paying attention, Geralt should have known that! If he’d heard, he would have insisted they head north, west, anywhere but _here_. Geralt sat with him, and pulled Jaskier close, though he tried to shove the witcher away at first. The embrace was oddly comforting, but Jaskier could only see the memories of his childhood flashing through his mind. 

**”If I’d known, we never would have come. But we’re here now…I’ll never let anything happen to you.”** And gods be damned if Jaskier didn’t actually believe that. Geralt had shown time and again that he was willing to risk a great many things to save his hide, even when he gave every indication that he despised the bard. Jaskier gulped and shakily nodded, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his undershirt.

**”You realize I’m…going to be plastered to your side until we’ve gone back home?”** Jests were not coming easily to him, and his stomach was still wrung up in knots. 

**”I gathered.”** Something told Jaskier that he didn’t just think it because of this reaction. **”I won’t let you leave my side.”**

And yet he whimpered, smoothing down his hair. Jaskier took a few long, bedraggled breaths, and sat up straight, nodding as if to reassure himself. **”Fine. I…fine. Yes. I…no one will come near me if you’re there.”** It was a long moment of silence before Jaskier realized that Geralt’s arm was still about his shoulders.

The bard stood, composing himself and silently heading up to the main deck again. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. Jaskier sighed as he emerged, Geralt close behind him. **”I’m not going to try jumping again, I’m not _stupid_ , you know.”** The witcher grunted at him in reply. 

Jaskier stared bitterly ahead, the tall tower growing larger and closer with each moment. No doubt the Maid was up in its spire, gazing down at the approaching ship with her father. The citadel shone just off to the side, but it was the tower that he stared at. Like a beacon of despair, drawing him back home.

**”Oldtown.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of this series! Just this set of chapters. There's a whole next level of adventure coming and I cannot wait to share it with you guys.


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